where was Lucy? There was no sign of her in the kitchen, either, despite the dirty dishes in the sink and what looked like a congealed glob of cookie dough in the stand mixer beside it. It seemed as though she’d left in the middle of baking a dessert. Why hadn’t she completed the task? Where had she gone? What had called her away? And, he thought, with a distinct note of irritation filtering into his thought process, why hadn’t she taken the baby with her?
“Hold on.” Niall’s gaze was drawn to a screwdriver on the counter that didn’t look like any piece of cooking equipment he’d ever seen his late mother or Millie Leighter use.
After a couple of silent sobs vibrated through the infant’s delicate chest, Niall pulled his hand away. Tuning out the recommencing wail, he opened two drawers before he found a plastic bag and used it to pick up the tool. The handle was an absurd shade of pink with shiny baubles glued around each end of the grip. He rolled it in his hand until he found what he suspected he might—an empty space in the circle of fake stones. Niall glanced back through the darkened apartment. The bead stuck in the frame of her door suddenly made sense. But even if his neighbor had lost her key and had to break into her own place, she’d turn on the lights once she got in. There’d be signs of her being here. And she’d damn well take care of the baby.
Unless she wasn’t the one who’d broken in.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered needlessly. Wrapping the screwdriver securely in the bag, Niall slipped it into his pocket and clasped the gun between his hands again. “I’ll be right back.”
A quick inspection through the bedroom and en suite showed no sign of Lucy McKane there, either. He didn’t see her purse anywhere, and her winter coat and accoutrements were missing from the front closet. There was no baby paraphernalia in any of the rooms.
Had she been kidnapped? What kind of kidnapper would leave evidence like the screwdriver behind? Had she been robbed? Nothing here seemed disturbed beyond the topsy-turvy knitting basket, and anything of typical value to a thief—her flat-screen TV, a laptop computer—was still here.
More unanswered questions. Niall’s concern reverted to irritation.
This child had been abandoned. Lucy McKane was gone, and the woman had a lot of explaining to do.
Niall was surprisingly disappointed to learn that she was the type of woman to leave an infant alone to run errands or enjoy a date. She was a free spirit, certainly, with her friendly smile and ease at striking up conversations with neighbors she barely knew and ownership of far too many pairs of panties. But she’d told him she was a social worker, for pity’s sake. He wouldn’t have pegged her to be so self-absorbed and reckless as to leave a child in an unlocked apartment—to leave the child, period. If she’d left by choice.
With the mandate of both his badge and his medical degree, and three generations of protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves bred into him, Niall could not walk out that door and abandon this baby himself. So, understanding as much about children as his medical books could teach, he tucked his gun into its holster, pulled his phone from his pocket and picked up the baby in its carrier. He spared a glance at the soft wood around the deadbolt catch, debating whether or not he should retrieve the decorative bead jammed there or report Lucy as a missing person. Making the crying infant his first priority, Niall closed the door behind him and carried the baby into his apartment before dialing the most knowledgeable parent he knew.
The phone picked up on the third ring. “Niall?”
“Dad.” He set the carrier on the island in his own kitchen and opened a drawer to pull out two clean dish towels. A quick glance at his watch indicated that perhaps he should have thought this through better. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s three in the morning, son. Of course you did.” Thomas Watson pushed the grogginess from his voice. “Are you still at the hospital? Has there been a change in Dad’s condition?”
“No. The doctors are keeping Grandpa lightly sedated. Keir will stay with him until one of us relieves him in the morning.”
“Thank God one of my boys is a doctor and that you were there to give him the treatment he needed immediately. We should be giving thanks that he survived and no one else was seriously injured. But knowing that the bastard who shot him is still...” Thomas Watson’s tone changed from dark frustration to curious surprise. “Do I hear a baby crying?”
Niall strode through his apartment, retrieving a towel and washcloth along with the first-aid kit and a clean white T-shirt from his dresser. “Yes. Keir will contact me if there is any change in Grandpa’s condition. I told Grandpa one or all of us would be by to see him in the morning, that the family would be there for him 24/7. I’m not sure he heard me, though.”
“Dad heard you, I’m sure.” Niall could hear his father moving now, a sure sign that the former cop turned investigative consultant was on his feet and ready for Niall to continue. “Now go back to the other thing. Why do you have a baby?”
Niall had returned to the kitchen to run warm water in the sink. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Of course, son.”
“Dad, I need newborn diapers, bottles and formula. A clean set of clothes and some kind of coat or blanket or whatever babies need when it’s cold. A car seat, too, if you can get your hands on one at this time of night. I’ll reimburse you for everything, of course.” Niall put the phone on speaker and spread a thick towel out on the counter, pausing for a moment to assess the locking mechanism before unhooking the baby and lifting him from the carrier. “Good Lord, you don’t weigh a thing.”
“The baby, Niall.” That tone in his father’s voice had always commanded an answer. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“It’s the neighbor’s kid,” Niall explained. “I’d get the items myself, but I don’t have a car seat and can’t leave him alone. Oh, get something for diaper rash, too. He needs a bath. I can use a clean dish towel to cover him up until you get here, although I don’t have any safety pins. Do you think medical tape would work to hold a makeshift diaper on him until you arrive?”
“You’re babysitting? I never thought I’d see the day—”
“Just bring me the stuff, Dad.”
Another hour passed before Thomas Watson arrived with several bags of supplies. His father groused about bottles looking different from the time Olivia had been the last infant in the house and how there were far too many choices for a feeding regimen. But between the two of them, they got the baby diapered, fed and dressed in a footed sleeper that fit him much better than Niall’s long T-shirt. At first, Niall was concerned about the infant falling asleep before finishing his first bottle. But he roused enough for Thomas to coax a healthy burp out of him before drinking a little more and crashing again. Niall was relieved to feel the baby’s temperature return to normal and suspected the feverish state had been pure stress manifesting itself.
The infant boy was sleeping in Thomas Watson’s lap as the older man dozed in the recliner, and Niall was reviewing a chapter on pediatric medicine when he heard the ding of the elevator at the end of the hallway. He closed the book and set it on the coffee table, urging his waking father to stay put while he went to the door.
He heard Lucy McKane’s hushed voice mumbling something as she approached and then a much louder, “Oh, my God. I’ve had a break-in.”
Niall swung open his door and approached the
